Chapter 1

Notebook from my Writing Residency at the Ragdale Foundation – July of 2009

7/13/2009

I remember Dr. Bird. I remember his dull blue eyes which did no justice to the violently vivid way in which he taught. I remember the sweat stains that would appear on his neat white oxford under his arms and dotted across his stomach. I remember his yell. He would yell at us frequently. It was terrifying. He would yell when we thought of something profound. In the fall he would have us sit out on the balcony for an entire 45 minute class period and tell us to watch the leaves change color. He had a comb over; his hair was dull like his eyes. When he jumped up or banged on the table his dull waft of hair would stand up on his head. I remember talking to him outside of class. I was startled; he was calm and tranquil.

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Things I fear:

Spiders

The dark

Success

Heart attacks

Not being where I want to be *

Age

Running

I fear not being able to be where I want to. It is a fear which has haunted me for much of my life. When I was in grade school I attended Lake Forest Country Day School. For high school many students went to private school and many went to Lake Forest High School. In my mind, Lake Forest Academy was the school for me. In 8^th grade I could not picture myself anywhere else and any thought of an alternative scared me.

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I don’t know:

Where I am going to school (although I know where I want to)

What it feels like to die

How to do some of the things I want to

What I like most

If this is how it’s supposed to be

7/15/2009

I saw it in the reflection of a dirty puddle. It was bright and white as it flew through a clear sky. It was as if the sun had a twin, a faster twin with wings. There were also the other twins, the towers. They too had suns on them. Their suns weren’t moving.

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Words I like:

Smorgasbord

Twitter

Conundrum

Finicky

Disease

Wafting

Illuminate

Olfactory

Smitten

Apart

Rain

Muffler

Thai

Chatter

Untitled

Anonymous

Effervescent

Lurp

Gaudy

 

7/16/2009

Things I L(ove)ike a lot

AG

My blue boots

My Anna sui jumper

Red mango

Eating pears and drinking grapefruit soda at the park with the lake and the mountains

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A low, crooked neck

Hopeful arms drop to their sides

Eyes veer from failure

 

His neck is bent and still

His eyes he dare not lift

If he does, disappointment awaits

Disappointment in once hopeful faces

Disappointment he induced

So he continues, transfixed at the ground

Shoulders hanging below his neck

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That dirt on your body that won’t come off

I’ve come to call it freckles

That front tooth which turns slightly in

I’ve come to call it a snaggle tooth

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Grapefruit fizzles in my cup

We toast, the mountains through our glasses

We can see our toes in the reflection of the lake

We can feel pear running down our chins

The evening grass imprints our legs

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They call it the four seasons. Which is funny because most people only know one. They only see it in the summer, when the black roof tiles fade to gray and the hills and valley are coated with green. They swim when the sun warms the water’s soul and hike through lush, humid forest. I hate the summer. It is when they come and bathe with their fat, sunburned bodies, sunscreen leaking off of them into what once was pure. They litter the forest; breaking branches and stepping on our flowers. Their filth covers my sheets.

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I apologize for:

Stealing from my dad

Not trying hard enough

Back talking

Looking mean

Turning assignments in late

 

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                “We would now like to welcome you to Steamboat, Colorado.”

I debarked the plane into the 4 terminal airport. Waiting for me there was my Aunt, Uncle, and two cousins. They hugged and welcomed me as we walked out to their Durango.

                “We are going out to dinner so let’s make sure we use proper manners, Stais.” Aunt M said in a slow cartoony voice. I was 14. Was this a joke?

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7/17/2009

Sticky note: Lunch? The tree in the yard? 12:30?

12:35 AM Text: You’re late – AG

12:36 AM Text: I know – SB

2:00 AM Email: We still haven’t solved this – AG

Sticky note: I know – SB

7:00 PM Text: When?? – AG

7:30 PM Text: I don’t know – SB

7:31 PM Text: We need to talk about this, in person. – AG

8:30 PM Text: I know – SB

8:31 PM Email: I guess we will have to try again at lunch, we need to figure this out. – AG

9:00 PM Email: I Know – SB

9:01 PM Email: 12:30 under the tree – AG

Sticky note: Don’t forget! – AG

12:35 PM Text: You’re late – AG

12:45 PM Text: I know – SB

Sticky note: We still have things to talk about – AG

3:00 PM Text: I’m sorry - SB

3:01 Pm Text: What do you mean? - AG

8:00 PM Text: Hello??

12:01 AM Text: are you ok?

6:00 AM Email: did you lose your phone?

12:30 PM Email: What is going on?

1:30 PM Email: We regret to inform the staff that last night we lost an employee. You will know more when we do. – Management

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7/18/2009

                “What do you guys want to do today?” The babysitter asked me and my brothers after she picked us up from camp.

                “I want to go to my dad’s big new house”

                This is how I referred to the house my dad was building. A number of years ago he bought the plans for an unbuilt Frank Lloyd Wright house and had finally found a lot to build it on. I used to love going there and watching the slow, 2 yearlong construction of my new home.

                We arrived at the site to the smell of crushed gravel and wet concrete. Today they were pouring the sidewalks which would bend through the yard and around the house. My dad asked us if we wanted to put our hand prints into the concrete.

                We pushed our small hands down hard into the wet putty and then wrote our names and the date with a stick we found in the bushes. The next day the concrete had hardened, in it a snapshot of myself at 7.

                When I was 17 I took a walk on the sidewalk. I then noticed the hand prints from 10 years ago. I bent down and put my 17 year old hand over my 7 year old one. It was like touching a memory, like holding its hand. I had seen my dad over here, holding the hands of his children, wondering how time moves so fast. I sat there for a while, running my fingertips along the groves of my former self. I tried to remember who I was, trying to put a mind to this hand.

                I liked oranges. I used to put a whole slice in my mouth and then put the peel over my teeth to make them look orange. Once My grandma took me to the zoo and I saw a monkey do the same thing. I called him my brain twin. A brain twin is someone with the same brain as you, but looks different. My cat was my brain twin too. I would sit and stare at her and she would sit and stare back. This was a clear sign of a brain twin. My favorite brain twin was my grandpa. I used to go over to my grandparent’s house at least once a week. He and I always took our naps at the same time and were also both hungry at the same time. Looking back this isn’t unusual because we were both always hungry. When my grandma wasn’t taking me to museums and gardens, I would sit on their couch in my usual spot with my grandpa. We would watch the cubbies. Every time they scored we allowed each other a celebration cookie. We also watched the sox, just so we could say “he gone” whenever one of their players struck out. This also merited a cookie. He knew how to make the perfect grilled cheese and I knew how to perfectly pour Campbell’s tomato soup into a saucepan. He called me pumpkin and I called him bigger pumpkin. We were brain twins, it was how it worked.

                As I grew from 7 to 8 to 9 and on, I spent less time with him. It was not because I didn’t want to, I just had less time to give. I had birthday parties, horse shows, tennis matches, soccer practice, and playdates all which stole my time. I still visited about once a month, but I always missed my brain twin.

                One day I was over at my grandparent’s house for dinner. I was 13, but we were still there on the couch sneaking cookies and watching baseball. I thought it was all the same. I asked my grandpa a question, I can’t even remember it anymore, but he ignored me. I repeated it, this time louder, and he looked over at me and asked me what I said. So I repeated it again.

                “Huh?”

                Again I said it, this stupid, insignificant, meaningless list of letters. He just laughed to himself and said

                “Okay sweetie.”

                He could not hear me. He was old. These two words and the tone and the acceptance they carried scared me. He was old. And he knew. The way he said it told me. I was old, too. This was the first time I ever had ever come to terms with a broader view of the passage of time. When I was young, he was not old. He was just my brain twin, my bigger pumpkin. As I grew older I was proud to boast a new number, but never related it to aging. But he did because he knew. And it hurt.

                This was my last childhood memory. After that I no longer lived in that timeless state of innocence and ignorance. I knew. As I sit here holding the hand of my childhood I still know. The evidence is overwhelming. 10 years of age is the difference between these two hands. I no longer like oranges or have monkeys and cats as brain twins. I still have my grandpa. He still calls me pumpkin and I still call him bigger pumpkin. He still makes the perfect grilled cheese and we still eat it together while watching baseball. I just need to speak a little louder, that’s all. Just a little louder.

 

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Dear Ms. Heizer,

                I would like to thank you for this insightful opportunity. Ragdale is an inspirational ground, on it many fascinating characters. I have been spoiled over the past week writing among other talented colleagues and meeting with influential writers and artists. Thank you for these memories, I can guarantee they will not be fleeting. I will continue to remember Ragdale, with it your generosity which put me here. I wish you a good life ad would like to assure that your funds were well spent.

                With gratitude,

                Stasiana Beldurra

 

                My residency at the Ragdale Foundation was during the summer before my senior of high school. The year in which I left AG, the boy with freckles I drank grapefruit soda with at the park with the lake and the mountains and the Jack of Hearts, tried and failed to kill myself in my garage, lost my grip on the truth to a depression ended by my mother’s confirmation that she wanted no part of me, graduated by the skin of my teeth only to dive far deeper from who I was when I went to the University of Colorado.

                After I thanked Ms. Heizer, somewhere I got lost. I now see why; I was living in the ignorant confines of a lie for 17 years. As I read the words of myself at 17, I remember the girl who loved her blue boots and Anna sui jumper, who studied to get into a good school and never had drank before, and who ignored how fucked up her parents were so she wouldn’t have to face it herself. Instead she broke. And consequently lost herself for the years to come.